


Playing For Keeps Part Three

by Rozel



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:36:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozel/pseuds/Rozel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally and Doyle finally reach a decision</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing For Keeps Part Three

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third and final part of Playing For Keeps. It can be read as a stand alone, but assumes knowledge of the first two instalments

Usual Disclaimer

I don’t own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens. I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.

 

PLAYING FOR KEEPS Part 3

 

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Betty eyed the envelope sitting on her desk. Why such an innocuous little thing should fill her with such a sense of foreboding was anyone’s guess, but Betty had a good idea of the envelope’s contents, and dreaded the mayhem it could cause.

Along the corridor she could hear the sound of staff preparing for the end of the day. Lockers clanging shut, the chatter and an occasional bark of laughter. Sighing, Betty stood up and walked to the door.'Anyone seen Ray?'; she asked the assembled group.

'He's in the squad room, waiting for Bodie,' answered Murphy. 'I'll give him a shout if you want.'

Betty shook her head. 'No thanks. I'll go and find him myself.'She returned to her desk and picked up the envelope. She walked down the corridor and into the squad room.

Doyle was lying on the old sofa, reading a magazine. He smiled as she walked in and threw the journal on to the floor. He swung his legs round and sat up, running a hand through his rebellious curls. ‘Hello love, how are you?’

Betty looked at the young man, oddly handsome and oddly old at the same time. She hated having to play messenger, but a promise is a promise after all.

She held out the envelope. ‘This is for you. It’s from Sal,’ she said quietly.

Doyle sat stock still. Slowly he reached across to Betty and took the envelope from her. His face closed up, unreadable and blank. ‘Thanks love.’ He stuck the envelope inside his jacket pocket, and stood up. ‘Can you tell Bodie I couldn’t wait any longer? I’ll call him later.’ Doyle strode out the room, leaving Betty sad and miserable.

 

********************

By nine o clock that night Doyle was maudlin drunk and lying on the floor of his flat. The envelope lay beside him, and the sheet of paper it contained was screwed up in a ball. The incessant ringing of the doorbell finally penetrated his near stupor, and he crawled on all fours to the front door. Levering himself up to his feet, he opened the door, swaying as he did.

‘We outgrow love, like other things*,’ remarked his partner, as he swept into the flat.

‘Fuck off,’ slurred Doyle.

‘And put it in the Drawer*...that’s no way to treat a bearer of gifts,’ replied Bodie with a smirk. He carried a bag of takeaway food through to the kitchen. Doyle shuffled down the hall, following his partner into the kitchen. Bodie switched on the light and turned to face his friend. Doyle realised what a state he must look, as Bodie swiftly took in the bloodshot green eyes, the dishevelled hair and the general air of deshabille.

Bodie wrinkled his nose delicately. ‘You reek of cheap scotch. What would Father say? Go for a shower and I’ll dish up dinner.’

Doyle scowled. ‘How did you know? Betty tell you?’

Bodie smiled innocently. ‘Of course she did. When you stormed out of the building she came to find me. She guessed you might need some company. Shame I didn’t get here earlier considering the state you’re in.’

Doyle muttered as Bodie busied himself with plates and cutlery. He remained where he was, resting his hands on the table – anything to stop himself from falling over. He heard Bodie sigh and watched as his friend stopped his preparations and marched towards him. Doyle felt, rather than saw, his partner’s hands grasp his shoulders firmly and propel him towards the bathroom. Vainly, he tried to shake off Bodie’s strong grip but with no avail. The taller man continued to push him along the hallway and into the bathroom. ‘Shower. Eat. Talk.’

Doyle stood there disconsolately as his partner shut the bathroom door and marched back to the kitchen whistling away. His head was aching and he felt sick, aware he’d drunk the best part of a bottle of scotch on an empty stomach. Gingerly he pulled his shirt over his head and toed off his shoes. He unzipped his jeans and shimmied out of them, kicking the garment into the corner along with his shirt. Bending down to pull off his socks was the final straw; his head swam and he lurched towards the toilet, bringing up most of the liquid he’d spent the evening drinking. He groaned and slumped onto the floor. In the distance he could hear Bodie chortling away, fully aware of his friend’s predicament.

Doyle eased himself to a stand and stumbled into the shower. He turned the tap full on, and was rewarded with a stream of icy water pouring over him. With a yelp, he fumbled for the hot tap, frantically turning it until the water turned warmer. He shampooed his hair and soaped himself clean, removing the smell of the alcohol and vomit from his body. He stood for a full five minutes, head resting on the cool tiles as the water continued to rain down, easing the tension and stress from his limbs. He shut off the tap and reached out for a towel, wrapping it around his waist. Feeling shaky but better, he padded back down the hall and into his bedroom. He towelled off the excess water, and reached for his tracksuit bottoms. Slipping them on, he found an old sweater and thrusting his feet into a pair of flipflops, he wandered back into the kitchen.

Bodie was already seated, with an array of foil dishes set out before him. He nodded cheerfully at his friend as he spooned a portion of rice into his mouth. Doyle eyed the food warily, half expecting a rush of nausea to appear. Surprisingly, the smell made him realise how hungry he was. He sat down and helped himself to a plate, before spooning the contents of several dishes on to it.

‘Thanks Bodie,’ he said. ‘Didn’t feel like eating much earlier. The scotch seemed a good idea at the time – got a bottle from the offie on the way home.’ He dug into a pile of noodles and forked them into his mouth.

‘So what’s happened then?’ Bodie avoided any eye contact with Doyle, knowing how temperamental he could be.

‘I think I’ve been dumped by Sal,’ he replied. ‘Wasn’t expecting it, especially after she told me she loved me. It’s all in that bloody letter!’ Doyle stood up and walked into the lounge. He returned, smoothing out the crumpled paper, before throwing it down on the table. ‘Here. Read it.’

Bodie looked up, surprised. ‘Are you sure mate? It’s a bit private isn’t it?’

Doyle stood there expressionless. ‘Don’t think it matters really. She told Betty all about it. You and Cora know. Made such a bloody fool of myself the other night.’ He sat back down and resumed eating.

Doyle watched as Bodie picked up the letter.

********************

 

My Darling Ray

I’ve asked Betty to give this to you, so don’t blame the messenger, please.

By the time you get this, I’ll be in Lyon. Mr Cowley has arranged for me to spend three months with Interpol, learning more about international white collar crime. There was a vacancy which came up suddenly and he insisted I take it. If it works, I’ll be based in France for part of the year.

I know it is completely the wrong time; we have so much to talk about, and the last thing I wanted to do was to write this letter. The past few days have been awful, knowing what you want from me, and me knowing what I feel for you. What do I do Ray? I love you so much, but I’m scared stiff at losing my independence. I’ve fought long and hard to get where I am, and this opportunity to represent CI5 within an international organisation is a step in the right direction for me.

We have so much in common; the same values and lifestyle, the same likes and dislikes, and you are the most passionate of lovers, but I wonder if it’s enough. You want a family; you’ve always been honest and upfront about it. I’m not sure – all I can say is that if I ever have kids, I’d want them with you.

I think this posting is probably the best thing for both of us now. It will certainly help me get my priorities straight, and I hope it gives you time to think how things would have to change.

Please don’t think too badly of me Ray. I never wanted this to happen – you mean far too much to me. I love so you much.

Sal XX

********************

 

Bodie re read the letter again. Doyle watched the expression on his friend’s face, as it changed from astonishment to a cool calculating look. He put the letter down and stared across the table. Doyle waited for the comments.

‘Bloody hell, mate. I’m so sorry. It’s a bit sudden isn’t it?’ He looked expectantly at Doyle.

‘I don’t know. It smells of Cowley interfering if you ask me. Old bastard.’

‘Sal doesn’t come out of it too well either,’ said Bodie candidly. ‘Fucking career means far too much to her.’

He didn’t even see the punch coming, as Doyle launched himself across the table. The effects of the whisky and Doyle’s general demeanour meant it had little impact on Bodie. He moved backwards easily as Doyle’s flailing fist made contact with Bodie’s broad chest.

‘Calm down mate. She’s always told you how important her career is to her.’

Doyle slumped back down. ‘I know, I know,’ he said wearily. ‘I thought we’d carry on with what we had, and then in the future Sal might decide she wanted more from me. I love her in my own way; whether it’s enough, I just don’t know...and I don’t want to give up the job yet. Also, I want kids and she’s really not certain about that at all.’

Bodie sat pensively. ‘I wouldn’t bring kids into a world like this. Too much going wrong...but lots of little Doyles running around the place, spreading peace and love...that would be a way forward.’

‘Not going to fucking happen though, is it?’ said Doyle. ‘Don’t seem to be able to keep a woman long enough to do the deed, let alone set up home.’ He stabbed at a prawn ball on his plate.

Bodie fought the urge to laugh, as images of small children with curly hair and green eyes righting wrongs danced in his mind.

‘Couldn’t hack it with Anne either.’ Doyle was entering full self pity mode now. ‘Or Lisa – she got tired of me always breaking dates.’

Bodie shrugged his shoulders and helped himself to another portion of chow mein. ‘Have some fun, Ray. Not every woman you take out is suitable to be Mrs Doyle. Stop looking, just go with the flow.’

Doyle snorted as he continued to eat. ‘It’s difficult knowing what’s best with this job! At least Sal knew what to expect! Anne hated the deception and Lisa couldn’t take the sudden departures for days at a time. At least Sal knew...’

He stared off into the distance.

‘What do you really want though, Doyle. On one hand you don’t want to leave the squad. On the other hand you want roses round the door and a wife, barefoot and pregnant. Can’t have it all!’

Doyle was surprised at Bodie’s stern tone.

‘In fact, you and Sal are well suited! You’re both stubborn and put yourselves first!’

Doyle looked up in surprise. He valued Bodie’s often acerbic comments on his private life, although it was unusual for his partner to be quite so frank. ‘At least I was thinking about the future,’ he protested. ‘If Sal was really committed, she would too.’

Bodie watched his partner thoughtfully. ‘No Ray. You would have expected her to give up far more than you’re prepared to.’ He carried on eating. Doyle began to argue, but quickly fell silent. He recognised an element of truth in his friend’s words, and they made him uncomfortable.

‘What would you do then? What’s your game plan?’ he asked Bodie.

‘When I’m forty five, and if I’m still alive, I’m going to give it up, live with Cora and grow flowers,’ his partner replied.

‘You can’t tell a weed from a wisteria.’

‘Seriously, have you given it any thought, Ray, what you’re going to do? There’s no way we can keep up the pace. We play a dangerous game, mate.’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Doyle. ‘Sometimes I think I’ll just knock it on the head, move to Cornwall and paint. Love all the women that come my way and die alone and embittered, surrounded by cats and canvasses.’

Bodie threw his head back and laughed out loud. ‘Not in a million years Ray. You, of all people, need one special woman. You might shag a few, but when that one comes along, you’ll know. And then you’ll move heaven and earth to make it work...’ Bodie stopped abruptly, realising he had all but said Sally was not the woman for Doyle.

‘Sal’s not the one, is she?’ said Doyle reflectively.

Bodie shrugged his shoulders. He knew Doyle and Sally were one of a kind, and saw the attraction each had for one another. Whereas Bodie knew Ray would give up CI5 in a heartbeat for the right person, he also recognised that Sally could never settle into Doyle’s view of a domestic world. She was the new breed of women, independent and hungry for success in her chosen field. If, by some miracle, she and Doyle did stay together, Bodie knew it would be a world of nannies for the children, a home life dictated by the few moments each could spare between meetings and conferences and long periods when neither of them saw each other. Neither of them would concede to each other.

Doyle continued eating, but the atmosphere between the partners had changed. They finished the meal in silence. Doyle cleared up the mess and made tea. He searched the cupboard for some aspirin and joined Bodie in the lounge. The TV was on, the sound muted. Bodie leafed through the paper, his brow knitting in concentration now and then. Doyle sat in the corner of the sofa, looking distinctly drawn and tired.

Eventually, Bodie threw the paper on the floor and stood up. ‘Time I was off. I need my beauty sleep and you’re no fun at all tonight.’

Doyle scowled. His headache had kicked in and the Chinese food lay heavy on his stomach. ‘Suit yourself.’ Bodie’s earlier comments had given him food for thought, and he wasn’t enjoying the experience.

‘See you tomorrow.’ Bodie left quietly.

*******************

 

Doyle set the security on the door and returned to the lounge. He flung himself down on the sofa and let his thoughts run riot. He knew there was an essence of truth in his partner’s comments. Sally had never indicated she was anything other than ambitious. Doyle was surprised at her admission of love for him made those few days ago. He thought about the scene – if he was honest, he had been flattered yet terrified by her outburst. His rose coloured version of love had been put to the test and found wanting. With a sigh, he sat up, hating himself, Bodie, Sally, Betty; in fact anyone he could think of.

 

Doyle woke very early the next morning, after a fitful night’s rest. He performed his morning routine mechanically, not tasting his tea, or aware he was wearing odd socks. He left his flat and unlocked his car. Twenty minutes later, he climbed the stairs to the squad room. The early morning quiet was broken by the soft tapping of Betty’s typewriter. Doyle stuck his head round the door. Betty looked up from her work.

‘Hi Ray. Are you OK?’ she asked.

Doyle nodded. ‘Think so. Did you know Sal was going to Lyon?’

Betty shook her head. ‘Yes I did. She’d been put forward for a place on the course and a vacancy came up. George told her take the opportunity and go. She was really excited, but then seemed to get really upset about it. Deferring wasn’t an option – those places are few and far between.’

Betty carried on typing. Doyle stared at the pretty woman and abruptly turned on his heel and left. He wandered along the corridor to the squad room. The tea urn was on and he made a mug of strong tea. For a while he sat still staring out of the window at the grimy building opposite. Betty quietly looked in on him, but Doyle was oblivious to her presence.

Suddenly he stood up and walked the office he shared with the other agents. Sitting at a vacant desk he pulled some paper from the drawer and began to write.

 

********************

Sal,

Got your letter via Betty.

I wish we’d had time to talk things through before you left, but I heard the course was a once in a lifetime opportunity, so it made sense for you to go really.

I’ve thought about things since reading the letter, and it made me question myself. On reflection, I think it is best if we call it a day. I don’t mean this to sound harsh or painful, but I suppose the main thing is that in time, I do want a wife and kids, roses round the door and a cat. I know this isn’t something that appeals to you. More so though, I want to make sure they have me around. Being an agent comes with risks I would never put my loved ones through. I’d want them to have a proper family life, knowing they were loved. I’d give up CI5 for that without a second thought.

We’ve had good times together, and you’re right when you say we have a lot in common, but we are moving in different directions. I think the world of you, Sal, but you have always been honest about how much your career means to you.

You’re the new breed love; the world is yours for the taking, and the rewards that come with such commitment. If we stayed together, how would our jobs impact on us? How often would we see each other if you were based in France and I’m on call somewhere in the UK? What sort of life would we have?

I’ve never been more torn between what do in my life Sal. You are the most wonderful woman I’ve known, and to reach this decision has been so hard. Take care of yourself love, and if you ever need a friend, call me.

All my love

Ray xx

********************

 

Reading the note through, Doyle shook his head. Whatever he wrote, the words seemed trite and forced. He knew Sally would be heartbroken, but now he’d made the decision he felt better and more in control of himself than he’d been for some days. Hearing the banging of doors he knew his colleagues were arriving for work. He fished in the desk for an envelope, signed the letter and sealed it away.

Leaving the office, Doyle headed for Betty’s room. ‘Is there any way of getting this to Sal?’ Doyle waved the envelope at Betty.

‘There is a sort of non-diplomatic pouch that goes over daily,’ she answered ‘do you want me to pop that it for you?’

Doyle gave her a ghost of a grin. ‘Please love, if you don’t mind.’

He left the note on the edge of her desk and left the room. He felt strangely light headed, as if a huge problem had just disappeared, On his way back to the squad room, he bumped into Bodie, blue chinned and yawning.

‘Had to crawl out of a strange bed to get here,’ he grumbled. ‘Why ever did I stop off at the Bull for a quick one? A couple of pints later, I feel as though I’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards.’

‘Got your quick one, obviously’ replied Doyle sarkily.

Bodie stared through slightly bloodshot eyes at his friend.

‘And how come you’re so perky today,’ he asked.

Doyle stopped and turned towards him. ‘I listened and learned from your little homily last night,’ he replied. ‘I wrote to Sal.’

Bodie looked at him in surprise. ‘Was that a good idea?’ he asked. ‘Eggs in one basket, burning your bridges, that sort of thing?’

Doyle shrugged his shoulders. ‘It was a decision. Couldn’t go on moping around, and when I thought about it there was only really one answer.’

Bodie clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘Well back to square one then. Come out tonight. I know an air hostess – she’s due in from Bahrain tonight, and she has a beautiful blonde friend. Right up your street, mate.’ Bodie walked ahead and turned into the squad room.

Doyle followed behind. _I only hope you’re right mate_ , he thought. _Or have I just thrown away a chance to be really happy?_

 

 

**We outgrow love, like other things - And put it in the Drawer -- Till it an Antique fashion shows -- Like Costumes Grandsires wore. Emily Dickinson


End file.
